


Sweet Omelette Daydreams

by m1met1mw



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Creepy, Manipulation, Uh oh whatcha gonna do when the chaos egg getcha, flowery language, just wondering what this egg plot is, the egg, vague oc description, vague skeppy-ness with the love bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:08:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29017941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m1met1mw/pseuds/m1met1mw
Summary: “Saccharine chaos grows from the earth like a tumor, sticky and red and decadent. This is natural, as far as you know, devil boy. This is the best damn thing to be born from this world— this unbridled mayhem, this slumbering pandemonium.”What will be born from The Egg once it is fed?
Kudos: 21





	Sweet Omelette Daydreams

Saccharine chaos grows from the earth like a tumor, sticky and red and decadent. This is natural, as far as you know, devil boy. This is the best damn thing to be born from this world— this unbridled mayhem, this slumbering pandemonium. You press your night sky fingers against its crumbling shell and inhale all of its beautiful language. You understand it better than anyone now, and that too is natural.

_.tnemhsiroun eriuqer I .em deeF _

You do as it asks, for how could you not? Deepest lover of the pool of disorder, you hunt and bring back the heads of monsters and docile animals alike, tossing them into the burning core. They burn. Everything burns. You like that too, that they burn. Sometimes you have half a mind to throw yourself in, but that won’t do, not yet. You have wishes to collect. Other bodies to offer. The vines stand out against your obsidian flesh and remind you of your purpose.

_.enim era uoY _

Tommy is a threat. He’s hard in the head, you know that already. There isn't enough room around that ego of his for the tender coils of The Egg to take root. You can bide your time, you think, as you caress chaos’ shell and imagine a world without him. He will make a perfect sacrifice, the ideal meal. Then the world will be swallowed too. 

_ ¿em evol uoy oD _

Yes. Yes. You adore them. You adore the little clicking voices through the candy-coated poison in your brain stem. You love their tight embrace of your veins. You love the fire that licks at your face and scorches away the holy water of the church. You have never loved so deeply. And yet it isn’t enough, this offer of love. The vines sought more. The chaos wishes to be observed fully. So you invite others in to witness the egg. You let them feast upon its wondrous form. The vines reach out to embrace you for a job well done and squeeze the air from your lungs. You exhale ruby spores that slice at your esophagus.

_.noos nrob eb ll’I  _

You can see the image clear as day, the birth. A being rises from the smoke and the fire red as the bloodvines suffocating your lungs. Black hair pools around their suspended form as if they existed in water alone. Yellow eyes stare out beyond a twisted mask of a face— an impression of humanity. The being has hands, yes, ending in long, trailing wisps of fingers, and horns that pierce the heavens. Their smile is a hatchet. They turn that smile to you from their place in the air, curled tight like a fetus, and the chaos on you unfurls like their limbs. They drip wax and wine. They blow you a sickly sweet kiss. Your chest concaves as they speak for the first time.

_ This world is mine. It belongs to me. And now no one will be able to steal it from me. _

And then you are back in the present, pressed against the stone floor, staring at the pulsing walls. You are tired. And The Egg hungers.

**Author's Note:**

> egg time


End file.
